


Due Diligence

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Under instructions from CyberLife, Connor searches several bars to find Lt. Anderson. It doesn't go well.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 399
Collections: Anonymous





	Due Diligence

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short missing-scene type fic (of which there may be more) to ease me back into writing for this fandom.
> 
> The noncon warning is there for an incident of attempted sexual assault. It doesn't involve Hank and is not very explicit but I figured better safe than sorry.

**Copperfields, 8:27pm**

_Find Lt. Anderson_

The bar closest to the DPD precinct is a brightly lit place with a selection of comfortable-looking but mismatched chairs. There are already a handful of police officers inside when Connor enters, unwinding with drinks after their shifts, but as he takes a lap of the bar, he can't see Lt. Anderson among them anywhere.

He gets fleeting glances from other patrons as he goes and he tries to ensure his facial scans are as quick and unobtrusive as possible. The bar admits androids -- there are a smattering of them standing by the door or retrieving drinks for their owners -- but Connor knows his mission will be easier to accomplish if he doesn't look too out of place.

The android behind the bar gives him a pleasant smile when he approaches. "What can I get you?"

"Information," Connor says bluntly. He holds out a hand, letting his skin fade to grey, and passes her the picture of Lt. Anderson he has in his files. 

It's out of date, taken from the lieutenant's picture in the DPD database when he was a younger officer, but it should still be sufficient to assist with identification.

"I'm looking for this man," he says, withdrawing his hand. "Has he been here this evening?"

The android shakes her head. "Not today. He comes in on his lunch break sometimes but I haven't seen him for a few days."

Connor automatically increases the probability that Lt. Anderson has a problem with alcohol and he turns away to calculate which bar he should check next. 

Laughter drifts across the room from three of the off-duty officers and Connor quickly amends his tactics as he approaches them. 

They don't notice him at first, too busy laughing at a story that one of them -- _Officer Murray; Born: 06/08/2011_ \-- is telling and Connor waits to speak up until the story and laughter both come to an end.

"Excuse me," he says, "my name is Connor. I'm trying to locate Lieutenant Anderson. Do you know where he might be?"

The three of them fall silent as they look at him and Connor blinks when one -- _Officer Nichols; Born: 12/07/2010_ \-- lets out a low whistle.

"Damn," Nichols says. "Never would've had Anderson down as being a robot fucker."

Before Connor can correct him, the third officer at the table -- _Officer Yates; Born: 01/05/2011_ \-- chimes in, "Yeah, but you've seen him to try use technology, right? Not surprised he ordered an android hooker to the wrong bar."

"Sexual functions aren't within my current scope," Connor says firmly. "I've been sent by CyberLife to assist Lieutenant Anderson on a case."

Nichols and Murray both snort with laughter and it's left to Yates to speak for the group when he says, grinning, "Okay, sure. Good luck 'assisting' with that 'case'."

"Do you know where Lieutenant Anderson is?" Connor asks. "I was told he was having a drink nearby."

"Yeah," Yates says, leaning back in his chair. "I might know where he is. Could do with another round first. Jog my memory, y'know?"

Murray laughs and chimes in, "I'll take a whiskey, double."

"Just a beer for me," Nichols says. 

"Get me a rum and coke," Yates adds, "easy on the coke."

Connor hesitates and Yates makes a shooing motion with his hand. "Sometime today would be good," he says. "Unless you don't want to find Anderson?"

Finding Lt. Anderson's is Connor's primary objective. His system quickly determines that this may be an efficient way of doing so and he walks over to the bar to obtain the drinks the officers requested. He receives a warning for the transaction but alcohol isn't one of the purchases he is forbidden from making and so it goes through successfully.

He returns to the officers, drinks balanced carefully in his hands, and sets them down in front of them. 

Murray looks surprised but Yates' grin only widens when he takes a sip of his rum and coke. "Man, I hope Anderson starts sending hookers to the wrong bar more often."

"You said you knew his location," Connor reminds him. "Where can I find Lieutenant Anderson?"

"Ah," Yates says, "I said I _might_ know his location but unfortunately it's slipped my mind again." His smile is broad and unrepentant. "Sorry about that, plastic. Give Anderson our regards when you track his drunk ass down."

There's a flicker of something at the edge of Connor's processor, which he chalks up to dissatisfaction at his inability to accomplish his task. 

Giving the officers a tight nod, he offers up a programmed response nevertheless, "Thank you."

"You're so welcome," Yates says, raising his glass magnanimously, and Connor hears the three of them dissolve into laughter again as he turns and walks out of the bar.

It's cold outside, the dark clouds threatening rain, and he straightens his tie before heading in the direction of the next closest bar.

****

+++

**Belview Red, 9:12pm**

_Find Lt. Anderson_

Connor barely gets a look at the inside of the second bar before a large human blocks his view.

The place is lit crimson, the tinted windows blocking out the glare of the streetlamps outside, and his sensors pick up the smell of cigar smoke even as the man stops him from getting more than a meter inside.

"You malfunctioning or something?"

Connor looks up at him. He's security of some sort and Connor tries not to seem threatening as he says, "I'm perfectly functional. My name is Connor; I'm looking for-"

"Can you read, _Connor_?" 

Connor frowns. "Yes. I'm programmed to read many different-"

The man shoves him hard before he can finish. Taken off-guard, Connor stumbles back, knocking his head against the wall, but the man is on him before he can preconstruct a suitable response. 

The man grabs his left arm and wrenches it sharply behind his back with a force that would break a human bone and very nearly breaks Connor's plating. 

Holding Connor in place, he pulls the door open and nods to the sign on it. "Then read that, smartass."

He doesn't appear to be doing any further damage and Connor complies, reading aloud from the red notice, "No androids allowed. Owners will be prosecuted."

The man taps the LED on Connor's temple. "Last I checked, you look like an android to me. You think the rules don't apply to you?"

"No, I-" Connor winces as the grip on his arm tightens. "In the case of conflicting orders, my mission takes priority. I'm trying to locate Lieutenant Anderson of the Detroit Police Department."

"Burton!"

The voice comes from inside and Connor looks over to see a well-dressed man leaning against the bar. The man behind him -- Burton, presumably -- straightens up, stammering, "I- It's an android, boss. I'm gonna throw it out."

"An android looking for a police lieutenant, by the sounds of it," the man inside says. "We wouldn't want to be unhelpful to the police, would we, Burton?"

His voice is clipped, his accent foreign rather than local, and Connor quietens the warnings from his system long enough to run a scan.

_Stephen Robinson; Born 11/03/1994  
Criminal record: Forgery, blackmail, assault_

Robinson motions to his doorman and Burton pushes Connor forward into the bar again. He gets a clearer look at it this time, seeing the plush boothes lining the walls and the smartly dressed clientele seated within, and soon realises that this doesn't look like the kind of place he would expect to find Lt. Anderson.

Burton loosens his grip but doesn't fully release his arm as Connor is led in front of Robinson. 

Robinson looks him over with curiosity but there's a cruel glint in his eyes which pushes Connor's stress level higher.

"Why don't you show him around, Burton? Make sure he gets a good look for his lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," Burton says gruffly, and then he's moving, dragging Connor with him as he approaches the first table. 

Their conversation pauses and Connor tries to speak to Burton as he says, "I don't need-"

"Nonsense," Robinson interrupts from somewhere behind him. "Say your piece, android."

The people sitting around the table look at him with confusion and amusement, and Burton grabs his hair to tug his head back as Connor says, uncertainly, "My name is Connor. I'm trying to locate Lieutenant Anderson of the Detroit Police Department. I was told he may be in a local bar; have you seen him here?"

The patrons snicker amongst themselves and shake their heads. 

For a moment, Connor expects that will be the end of it -- Lt. Anderson clearly isn't here -- but Burton shows no sign of letting go as he marches him to the next table. 

He struggles, trying to shift his weight enough to dislodge himself from Burton's grip, but since he isn't actively in danger, his programming stops him before he can do anything which might injure a human.

Still held tight, he repeats the same spiel at the next table and gets the same response. Robinson is smiling broadly, evidently enjoying the process, and Connor tries to understand the situation. 

His programming covers the concept of dignity insofar as it applies to androids; he knows he shouldn't do anything to bring CyberLife into dispute and should abide by social conventions in public. However, he isn't programmed to experience embarrassment or humiliation, which seem to be the goal of this process, and so he's left with the sensation of being strangely adrift as Burton continues to parade him around to table after table.

The reactions are broadly the same, people laughing and jeering at him, but he focuses on his mission: he is required to locate Lt. Anderson and in a way, this is helping him accomplish that.

It's more difficult to find a reason for Burton to manhandle him like this, or for Robinson to slap him across the face when he doesn't speak up quickly enough at the fifth table, or for the men at the eighth table to toss the dregs of their drinks in his face, but when he finally makes it through the whole bar, he reminds himself that at least he can definitively say Lt. Anderson isn't here.

Beer drips from his hair and eyelashes as Burton pauses by the front door and Connor tries to shake it away as he looks up at Robinson. 

"I'm so sorry we couldn't help you," Robinson says, lips curling in an insincere smile. "I do hope you find your lieutenant soon. It can be dangerous for an android out here without their owner."

Connor's programming kicks in again but the words come out flatly as he says, "Thank you."

Robinson chuckles and nods to the door. "Burton, if you wouldn't mind."

Connor doesn't have time to brace himself before Burton grips the back of his collar and throws him bodily out of the door into the street. He crashes to the ground, the momentum sending him rolling into the fresh puddle at the side of the road, and he looks up to see Burton smirk before he closes the door behind him.

The red sign on the door stares back at him and Connor picks himself up with a grimace. His stress levels fluctuate, although he can't pinpoint a rational cause, and he palms his coin to help regulate his system. 

He's making progress, he reminds himself. He's eliminated two possible locations and as he squares his shoulders and sets out through the rain to the third bar, he hopes the next one is less opposed to androids.

****

+++

**Grappolo, 9:45pm**

_Find Lt. Anderson_

The rain is heavier by the time Connor makes it to the third bar. It soaks through his jacket and shirt but has washed away (or at least covered up) the drinks which were thrown over him, and so Connor decides it's for the best.

The next bar, Grappolo, is tucked away on a darkened street. Connor can't see inside it but there are no 'androids prohibited' signs on the door and so he's more optimistic of a warmer reception when he steps inside.

It takes his sensors a moment to adjust to the darkness of the bar. It smells of cigarettes and something musty, and Connor smoothes down his tie as he scans the patrons of the bar. The small wooden tables by the door are mostly empty and Connor moves further inside to look for Lt. Anderson. 

The bar is manned by a human, with humans picking up their own drinks, and the first glimpse Connor gets of another android is the yellow shine of an LED beneath a rickety table. It takes him a moment to understand what he's seeing but he soon recognises the slick sound of the man at the table pushing into the android's mouth at a steady pace.

The android beneath the table isn't a HR400 or a WR400 but that doesn't seem to matter to its owner ( _user?_ ) as he makes use of its mouth anyway. 

There's another moan from further back in the bar and Connor peers around a corner to see an AC700 straddling the lap of another patron and moving rhythmically against them. 

Connor's system registers the impropriety but once again his mission takes priority. Ignoring the rest of the activity taking place in front of him, he scans the faces of the two men the androids are _interacting_ with but he experiences something close to relief when he confirms neither of them are Lt. Anderson.

The rest of the bar is more of the same; the further back he gets, the more illicit sexual activity he finds. 

By the time he makes it to the end of the gauntlet, he's seen more of Grappolo's patrons than he ever expected to, and he pauses by the bathrooms at the back of the bar to reassess.

Coming up blank on Lt. Anderson's location for a third time, he begins to map out his path to the next bar but is interrupted by a man's voice.

"Well, hey there, sweetheart."

An arm snakes around his waist and Connor stiffens when he's pulled back against a thick body. The man's belly presses into his lower back but it's the jut of his growing erection against the back of Connor's pants which sends his stress level spiking.

The man's mouth finds the side of Connor's neck in what can't be called a kiss as he murmurs, "Not seen you around here before."

His other hand moves down and Connor's lips part in surprise when the man presses his palm against the front of his jeans. 

"And equipped," he says approvingly. "Nice."

"I don't-" Connor begins, before his programming corrects course. Forcing himself to ignore the hand creeping up under his shirt, he says politely, "My name is Connor. I'm trying to locate Lieutenant Anderson of the Detroit Police Department."

The man freezes at the mention of the police and says, almost angry, "You a fucking cop?"

"No," Connor says honestly. "I'm assigned to assist investigators in cases involving androids."

"Oh." The man relaxes again and his fingers dip down past the waist of Connor's jeans. "I didn't know androids did that."

"I'm a prototype," Connor says, unsure what to say to make the man focus on his mission.

The man just chuckles at that. "Oh really? Brand new, are you?" He grinds purposefully against the back of Connor's pants. "Virgin ground?"

"That isn't part of my current operating parameters," Connor says. "I'm just looking for Lieutenant Anderson."

"I'm sure your lieutenant can wait his turn," the man says. His breath smells of vodka as he scrapes his teeth over the side of Connor's neck. "How about you and me have some fun first?"

Connor's system obliges with a preconstruction of the quickest way he could satisfy the man and exit without any conflict. 

Connor isn't sure what causes the shudder that runs through him but he closes the preconstruction quickly and searches his programming for a permissible alternate approach. 

One presents itself and he takes it instantly. "Lieutenant Anderson would be displeased if I didn't find him as quickly as possible."

"Oh yeah?" The man smiles against his neck. "Would handcuffs be involved?"

"Possibly," Connor says. "Although not on me. The lieutenant can be quite... possessive."

The man's hand stops in place. "Possessive like-"

"Like firearms may become involved," Connor lies. "He doesn't like to share."

"Oh." The man fumbles to withdraw his hand from Connor's pants. "I didn't-"

"He's also impatient," Connor says, sliding out from against the man's body. "I should find him now."

"Sure, sure," the man says and Connor hears him gulp. "Go find your cop owner." 

Connor catches the murmur of 'Fucking slut' as the man beats a hasty retreat. He feels his LED running yellow at the knowledge that he intentionally lied to a human but his stress levels recede now that the man has stopped touching him. 

He keeps his head down as he exits the bar and once outside, he tilts his head to let the pouring rain overwrite the feeling of the man's lips on his neck.

****

+++

**Roadhouse 29, 10:02pm**

_Find Lt. Anderson_

The fourth bar is close to the third one, just a couple of blocks over, but Connor's optimism fades when he sees the familiar red sign on the bar's door. It seems to be a sports bar of some kind and Connor stops for a moment and uses the familiar shape and weight of his coin to keep himself focused.

He makes it inside without being stopped by security, which is already an improvement on the second bar of the evening, and Connor glances around yet again in search of Lt. Anderson.

The bar is relatively empty, with a couple of people drinking on their own at the counter and a small group of men clustered around a table laden with empty glasses. 

Connor takes the bar first and quickly eliminates the people there from his search. He gets a sharp look from the bartender and a glare from one of the men but none of them say anything to him and he doesn't bother to introduce himself.

He approaches the group at the table, only getting close enough to be able to see their faces, but he pauses when he catches a fraction of their conversation.

"-seven years, y'know? And now I'm just thrown out like it's nothing."

"It's bullshit. It's such fucking bullshit. Loyalty means nothing to those vultures."

"I got a mortgage, I got a wife, I got kids to feed, but none of that means shit to them. Just get a fuckin' 'thanks for your service' and then they wheel a bot in to take my job the next day."

None of them are talking like they're currently employed as a police lieutenant by the DPD. Confident that Lt. Anderson isn't among them, Connor turns to leave but stops when one of the men at the table staggers into Connor's path. 

"Hey! The fuck are you doing here, plastic?"

He taps at the blue triangle on Connor's jacket, hard enough to make Connor take a step backward, and Connor whips around when he hears the scrape of chair legs on linoleum as the three other men at the table move in behind him.

"I'm just leaving," Connor says calmly. "I apologize for any disturbance."

One of the men behind him snorts. "Disturbance? Is that what you fuckers call it?"

"I don't-"

"You like seeing good hardworking folk sacked because of you?" The man in front of him moves closer and the likelihood of imminent violence is too high for Connor to even take a second to run a facial scan. "Is that how you pieces of shit get your rocks off? You come here to gloat about how you finally ran us all out of the factory?"

"I'm not involved in any factory," Connor says. "I'm here looking for Lieutenant Anderson from the Detroit Police Department."

There's murmuring behind him and the man to his right says, disbelieving, "You're a fuckin' android cop?"

"Plastic pigs," another says. "Just when you think it can't get more goddamn stupid."

"I need to leave," Connor says, trying to inject more authority into his words as the men crowd in. "Please stand aside."

"Oh, of course, your highness," says the man in front of him. His voice is thick with sarcasm and Connor watches, uneasy, as he steps to the side and feigns a deep bow. "After you, your highness."

Connor's system calculates a 71% chance of physical confrontation if he replies and a 57% chance if he just attempts to exit quietly. Neither are good odds but he presses his lips together and heads for the door.

One of the men slams a fist into his back before he even makes it three steps.

It lands where his kidney would have been if he was human. It does less damage than a kidney blow would but Connor still stumbles, dropping to one knee as warnings flare from his biocomponents. The next blow is easy to anticipate and he turns, deflecting the blow that was aimed at his head with his arm instead. 

The man snarls at him as he stumbles back, holding his sore knuckles, and Connor hears the mutter of "Fuckin' android" to his left before the next hit lands.

His priorities are clear -- _protect CyberLife property_ \-- but the combat simulations programmed into his system are insufficient in a four-against-one bar fight. 

He manages to down two, sweeping the legs out from under one to send him crashing to the floor and slamming his elbow into the temple of a second to render him briefly unconscious. He has an opportunity for a third too, could kick out at just the right angle to fracture his ankle and incapacitate him, but is pulled up short by the red wall which slides down in front of him.

The warnings from his programming make it clear in an instant: CyberLife would rather him be damaged than deal with the publicity of one of their androids breaking a man's leg in a bar.

Something glitches briefly in the back of his head, sending flickers across his vision as the programming sinks in, but there's no time to dwell on it. A fist comes down again and again and again, slamming against Connor's cheek and chest and arm, and he cries out when it's followed by a boot connecting with the plates along his ribs.

A second boot follows, then a third as the man he downed rights himself, and Connor curls in on himself as much as he can in an effort to shield himself from the barrage of blows. He feels plates shift in his chest and thighs, cracks splintering over his chassis, and thirium runs from his nose and lips to gather on the dirty floor.

After two minutes and twenty six seconds, the kicking stops but a whole new set of warnings flare when one of the men grabs his right arm and pulls it out flat against the ground. 

A boot comes to rest against Connor's wrist, pinning him in place, and he looks up at the men desperately. 

"No-"

"Shut up!" one grunts, kicking him in the ribs again. 

The man with his boot on Connor's wrist sneers down at him and Connor blinks away the thirium that's clouding one eye as he shakes his head. "Please-"

"Let's see how many jobs you can steal after this," the man says. 

There's a smile in his voice but Connor can't focus on anything but his outstretched hand as he struggles uselessly against the weight on his wrist. 

The weight intensifies for a second, the man's whole body weight pushing down on the strained plates of Connor's wrist, before his other foot comes down hard on Connor's hand. The toe of his boot digs in two, three, four times, before he follows it with a slow grind of his heel, and Connor cries out as his fingers bend and break under the force of it.

It's not pain, not like he knows humans experience it, but CyberLife need a way to ensure there are consequences for letting their property be damaged and this is it. The sensation arcs through him, sharp spikes of disapproval and failure ricocheting in his head, and as soon as the man releases him, Connor slumps on the ground, cradling his broken hand against his chest.

He doesn't hear what the men say as they walk out, although he does hear the sound of one of them spitting on the floor next to him. 

Error messages cloud his vision, reports on exactly which parts are broken and how badly, and he doesn't try to stop the notification that goes to the nearest CyberLife engineer. 

His body feels disjointed, like he's a collection of individual pieces rather than a whole model, and when he gets the warning that a shutdown is imminent, he can't help but welcome it.

****

+++

**Jimmy's Bar, 11:21pm**

_Find Lt. Anderson_

It's almost an hour before Connor makes it to the fifth bar.

The engineer gets to him quickly -- as CyberLife's most expensive model, Connor knows he's ranked as a high priority for repairs -- but once Connor exits shutdown, it still takes the best part of thirty minutes for his thirium to be replenished and his plates to be reset. 

The engineer is quick and clinical but doesn't disguise his disapproval at Connor's inability to stay unharmed while he fills in his maintenance report. He provides Connor with a clean shirt before he departs but deems his jacket and pants to be dark enough to conceal the bootprints and the thirium stains without needing to be changed.

The night is getting colder and the rain doesn't relent as Connor walks the half mile to the next bar. 

Fingers often take the longest to repair themselves and there's still a stiffness in the joints of Connor's right hand when he flips and catches his coin. He's functional though, and will be back to full capacity after a few hours on standby overnight, and so he straightens his tie and heads towards his latest destination.

The red sign on the door is not a welcome sight. 

Connor quashes the tremor that goes through him, the system echo of a hand in his hair and boots on his back, and lets his mission overrule the sign as he pushes open the door to Jimmy's Bar.

A couple of heads turn in his direction as he walks in. Connor braces himself for another assault but the patrons of Jimmy's Bar limit themselves to mute glaring as he works his way through the bar. 

The facial scans don't yield any matches and Connor is about to resign himself to a visit to a sixth bar when his last scan of the man sitting at the bar is finally a success.

Lt. Anderson is not what Connor expected. His hair is long and unkempt; he smells of alcohol beyond the glass of whiskey in front of him; and he doesn't even look up when Connor approaches him. 

A difficult lieutenant is better than no lieutenant, however, and Connor remains as positive and professional as possible when he introduces himself.

"Lieutenant Anderson," he says, "my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife."

The lieutenant doesn't respond and Connor perseveres, "I looked for you at the station but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby."

Despite his attempt at professionalism, he can't keep the tiniest hint of relief from creeping into his voice when he says sincerely, "I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar."


End file.
